


I don't mean this as a pick up line, but have we met before?

by WhoCaresAboutANameAnyway



Category: Shadowhunters (TV), The Mortal Instruments Series - Cassandra Clare
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, Memory Loss, edom
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-10
Updated: 2017-03-04
Packaged: 2018-09-16 16:09:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9279383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhoCaresAboutANameAnyway/pseuds/WhoCaresAboutANameAnyway
Summary: What would you do if you'd find yourself alone in the the middle of nowhere and with a voice in your head telling you what to do? And if you only remember a woman with sharp teeth looking hungrily at you? You run





	1. Chapter 1

When people say that someone is the woman of their dreams, they usually mean it in a poetic way. Simon means it literally.

 

_He’s sitting on a red velvet couch and the woman is there. She's right in front of him, looming over him. She smiles and all he can think about is her teeth. White and sharp. Like a neon sign warning him to stay away, to run. But then her blood red lips hide them and the fear is gone._

 

_She looks at him through her eyelashes and takes a seat beside him, just a shade away from touching. His eyes go to her mouth once again. “You're temptation itself. Why don't you join me?” She whispers and her gelid breath hits his face._

 

That's when he wakes up. Cold and hot at the same time. Scared but wanting for more. He's been dreaming about this woman for weeks. His heart speeds up and suddenly he’s eight years old and he's sleeping in Rebecca’s bed because he's has a nightmare and dad is not here anymore to tell him that there are no monsters under his bed. He leans against her side while she reads out loud to him. _Skin as white as snow, lips as red as blood, and hair black as ebony._

 

 _This is not a dream_ he thinks.

 

“This is not a dream.” He says out loud. This doesn't feel like a dream. This is too vivid to be a dream.

 

The Woman is still there, motionless, staring at him. But unlike Snow White, the teeth of this woman seem sharper than hers. She was more dangerous, but no less beautiful.

 

“Do I know you?” Simon says to her and The Woman looks delighted, but not with happiness, with something darker. Her disturbingly white teeth seem to glow in the darkness.

 

“You used to.”

 

And then he wakes up without knowing who Rebecca, Simon or the other mysterious Woman are, but without caring because he should be cold. _But he's not._

 

He's out in the snow, lying on his back. The sky is grey, and he doesn't know if it's because the clouds are blocking it or because he's not in… He doesn't know where he should be instead.

 

He lifts his head to look around him and sees nothing but a blank expanse of white and dying trees. The cold should be seeping through his thin black shirt, but it's not. The ice feels almost warm against him. He turns his head and lies his cheek against the snow. _But is not cold, because he's burning up. He's burning up from the inside out._

 

He drowns a scream and his back arches involuntary against the white coated floor, but he doesn't make a sound. He doesn't know why, but he knows he shouldn't make a sound.

 

_I know it hurts, but you have to get up, Simon. Get up!_

 

‘Am I hallucinating?’ He wants to ask, but what would an hallucination say other than no?

 

_It says much about you that even now you're amusing._

 

‘Why does it hurt so much if I’m not bleeding?’

 

_Because taking memories from someone is a painful process._

 

‘Did you take my memories? Why?!’

 

_It was your payment for coming here. It’s a long story, but let’s just say that my father has a sick sense of humor._

 

‘What's that supposed to mean?’

 

_Start running._

 

‘You said I wanted to come here. Where’s here? Where am I?’

 

_Don't you prefer to know who you are?_

 

‘You called me Simon.’

 

_You're in no man’s land. The law doesn't protect you there, Simon. You have to get up and run._

 

‘The law is hard but is the law.’

 

_That's not… That's not your brocard. Our kind follows a different creed._

 

‘Our kind?’

 

_Get up and run. They're coming for you._

 

‘Who? Who?!’

 

But he doesn't receive an answer. He grits his teeth and gets to his feet slowly. He leans on a tree heavily, panting and then he smells it. Blood, ashes and death. He doesn't know what is coming. But what he does know is that he doesn't have any time left. He has to go. His head feels like cotton wool, he feels like every step he takes he loses something. He has to struggle to keep thoughts in his head before he loses track of them.

 

RS. Initials. He doesn’t know what they stand for, but he knows they're important. But it’s so difficult to remember them.  

 

He takes a deep breath that does nothing for him and starts walking. The pain is still there but he has more important things to worry about. So he ignores it and just goes on.

 

It starts to snow, hard enough for him to not to see what's in front of him. If he were someone else he's sure he'd be terrified. Cold. Lost.

 

‘RS. I have to remember RS.’ Simon repeats like a mantra in his head.

 

But he's still him, _whoever that is_ , and instead he's glad because the wind blows away the putrid smell that was clogging his nose and the snow will cover his footprints.

 

 _Turn left now._ The same voice at the back of his head says.

 

‘Why?’

 

_Because there's nothing but snow in the other directions._

 

‘No. Why should I trust you?’

 

_You shouldn't. You don't. But we want the same thing._

 

‘And what's that?’

 

_All in its due time, fledging._

 

That word stirs something inside him. He's in a luxurious hotel room, in front of a mirror, but he's not looking at his own face, he's looking at The Woman who is behind him, petting his hair, awkwardly enough that he can tell her hands are not used to things like softness, care, or love. He can feel himself tensing and his gums itch, but before he can get away a boy rips her hand away from him. And just like that, the woman doesn't matter anymore, he's looking at the boy in front of him. He's that, a boy, not much older than him. With the same pale skin tone as hers, but unlike with her, it doesn't look threatening, it looks lovely. Suddenly he remembers that one of Simon’s favorite pastimes is to make him blush, because when he succeeds his porcelain skin acquires a faint pinkish touch.

 

But this time The Boy is looking at the woman behind Simon, with something ugly in his eyes.

 

‘What do I have to remember?’ Simon thinks to himself for a moment until he remembers. ‘R. I have to remember R.’

 

‘Are you her?’

 

_Who?_

 

Simon stops and stays right where he is. Without moving. He sighs and just stares right ahead. ‘What did I have to remember?’ Simon thinks to himself, before the voice startles him again.

 

_We don't have time for this, Simon, move!_

 

‘I woke up in the middle of a frozen wasteland, in pain, and without memories. With a voice in my head telling me what to do, running from something that I know I was afraid of, but don't know what is it, and my patience is wearing thin. So answer me, are you _her_?’

 

 _No, I'm not her. I’m not even a her. My name is Magnus Bane and you have to move. Now._ He knows that name, but he's not The Boy. He knows that much but before he can dwell on it he hears a thumping sound. Like in _The Tell-Tale Heart_. They're coming. They're close. So he turns left and runs.

 

‘Why is she the only thing I remember?’

 

 _Because you asked me to not let you forget her._ Simon feels himself frown hard at that, and his head redoubles its pounding.

 

‘Did I asked you to bring me here too, Magnus?’

 

 _Yes._ He runs and runs and he's so fast it seems like he's floating instead. The world should be a blur but he sees everything in detail as he runs. He could count the grooves of every tweak of the bare trees he passes. Instead he runs faster.

 

“Why?” He asks out loud this time, noting distantly how rough his voice sounds, until something occurs to him. “I'm bait.”

 

_Were you always this smart?_

 

‘How would I know?’

 

He runs until the noises die down to a faint whisper. He slows down until he's walking and reaches the end of the forest. At the edge of it there's a glade, and in the middle of it there's a tall building that could have been a church in the past. In the roof, where normally a cross would sit there are dozens of gargoyles, grotesque and evil. He approaches the steps but Magnus stops him before he can set a foot on them.

 

 _No! Don't go in. Go to the back of the building._ But he doesn't want to go there, he wants to enter now, he wants the gargoyles to look at him while he crosses the threshold of… _Don't! Go to the back!_

 

‘Why?’ He asks in a daze, the figures are calling to him.

 

_Because is a trap._

 

‘I know that, but why shouldn't I fight?’

 

_What makes you think you could win?_

 

‘The fact that I’ve run twelve miles in less than ten minutes without even being out of breath.’

 

_Don't you want to know what you are?_

 

‘No.’

 

_You feel that? They're getting closer, go to the back. Now, Simon._

 

The acrid smell comes back and with it screeching noises that make his skin crawl. His heart should be beating violently against his chest, but it’s quiet instead. He brings a hand to chest. Silence.

 

He turns around and makes his way to the back of the building, slowly. At human pace.

 

‘What's in the back?’

 

_Me._


	2. Chapter 2

Raphael is woken up by something shattering. He's up from his bed before the fragments can touch the floor. His full length wall mirror judging from the sharp broken pieces of glass cover the floor of his room like a morbid rug. He doesn't sense anything, no one is physically on the room with him, though in his world that doesn't mean he’s alone. He doesn't need any light thanks to his heightened senses but he still turns them on out of habit.

 

_ Is it my time?  _ Raphael thinks to himself searching the room for someone else, but he really is alone. He’s heard about this. It’s a secret that everyone knows. Every couple of weeks a downworlder will hear a noise, but they won’t see anything. They will feel someone in the room with them, but they won’t see anything. They will scream, but someone will take them and no one else will see them in the morning.  _ Am I next? _

 

He goes to the mirror, because he’s a clan leader now and he is not allowed to be scared. The mirror has a hole in the middle and the cracks that extend across are like a spiderweb. Like as if a spider were waiting for a fly to fall into its trap. He's the fly in this case. He bares his teeth and claws, approaching to it warily. 

 

When he's in front of it he gasps a breath that he doesn't need. He doesn't see himself in it. There's a white landscape, too radiant to be safe and too dark to be from this world. He looks more closely and sees snow and dying trees.  _ He knows that place _ , and he can almost taste in the back of his throat the ashes and sulfur that clog the air there. Is then when he sees it. There, against the stark white floor there's a bright red trail.  _ Footprints, bloody footprints _ , he thinks, and he  _ knows _ that blood is too bright to be human. He follows their path with his eyes, almost fearing where it’ll lead. Almost. It ends somewhere beyond what he can see. He goes to reach for the mirror to touch it, but the reflection shifts and suddenly there's a tall, gothic building with decrepit demonic figures on the roof.  _ Is this how I die? _

 

“¿Pero qué…?” He mutters to himself. And just like that the image changes again. This time he sees the back of the building, it seems like as if it was built in a cross shape.  _ A church?  _ He asks to himself. He squints his eyes but he knows there's nothing holy about that image, even the sky seemed to announce doom and suffering. 

 

He puts his hand on the glass, and it’s so cold that even his undead skin hurts under its gelid touch. Under his fingers a figure appears, coming to him. The figure seems to have a human shape. Male. Strong. _ Is he coming for me? _ The figure comes closer and Raphael sees that he's clad in black and that his shoeless feet are covered in red, which means that he's the one leaving the bloody trail. He takes a step back from the mirror, knowing that his heart would be trying to beat out of his chest if he weren't dead. _ I don’t want to die. _  He's about to call Lilly and Elliot to his room when finally the figure comes close enough for him to see its face.

 

“Simon?” He asks breathless. And suddenly the fledgling uses his vampire speed and he's in front of Raphael, who can't help but flinch. “¿Qué estás…?”

 

“So it's you, right?” Simon asks, and it's like hearing him through water, his voice weak and distorted. Raphael wants to take a step closer and put his hand back against the mirror. Raphael wants to turn around and summon the entire clan to fight. Raphael does neither.

 

“Simon, what...?”

 

“So that's really my name? Simon?” The vampire leader takes a step closer to the mirror and watches Simon come closer as well. He’s looking straight into his eyes with a blank expression that doesn't quite hide his anger. 

 

“What? Don't you… Are you okay? What's going on?” Asks Raphael bewildered, trying to look past Simon, but everything is still unnaturally grey and white, there's nothing but a deserted wasteland.

 

“Where are we?” 

 

“We? I’m the hotel, where the hell are  _ you _ ?” Raphael looks again at Simon there are dark circles under his eyes, so dark that they seem bruises, and he’s livid. He’s hungry. His shirt is ragged with dried blood, the sleeves tattered, and his chest and lips shine brightly with deep red blood and ichor.

 

“Why did I ask you to bring me here?” 

 

“What? I would never…!” And he trails off when Simon nods faintly with an understanding expression, “Simon?” The older vampire calls quietly, looking at his fledgling, who is still looking at him, but he's not sure he's seeing him. He moves a hand in front of the other’s reflection. “Can you see me?”

 

“Who is she?” The mirror cracks under the tight grip he didn't realize he has on it. Whoever is Simon watching must give him an answer because he turns suddenly, sensing something Raphael can't see.

 

“She's coming.” Simon whispers to him, barely above a breath, with a tremulous voice.

 

“Who Simon?  _ Who? _ ” Raphael asks angrily, and for a moment it seems like as if Simon heard him because he turns sharply to face him to him once more, seeming confused. “What the hell is going on?!”

 

“And how do I get you out of this?” After a beat the teen nods with a determined expression on his face. He lifts a hand to the mirror, aiming at Raphael’s heart and then his hand goes through the mirror. This time Raphael doesn't hesitate and goes to grab it, but nothing comes through. The fledgling's face twists in effort and suddenly there's a body on top of him. The other goes to his feet immediately and Raphael would recognize that figure anywhere, even if it's giving him his back.

 

“Magnus?! What the…?!” Raphael shouts in his room, but he's interrupted by the warlock himself who looks at him in the eye him while putting a finger against his lips, silencing the elder vampire. 

 

“What do we do now?” Simon asks, looking at some point in the horizon, in Camille's direction, he supposes.

 

“We fight,” the warlock answers with worryingly seriousness. “It won't be pretty, but if we win I’ll give you your memories back.” Simon looks sharply at the warlock at that, but he swallows visibly his words and looks straight ahead once more.

 

The frame of the mirror shatters under Raphael’s hands, and dozens of splinters manage to dig into his marmoreal skin, making it seem like as if was carved with grotesque designs.  _ Like a Shadowhunter _ he thinks viciously.

 

“Am I any good?” The fled…  _ Simon  _ asks, and Raphael wants to laugh. He wants to laugh until his belly hurts. He wants to laugh just like he did when he realized that he was forever damned, because Simon, having to ask  _ that _ in that vulnerable and quiet voice is a  _ laughable  _ idea. 

 

“I don't know, but you were trained by one of the most powerfuls of your kind.” Simon turns to look at Magnus again and for the first time since he's known him, the clan leader sees his fledgling as someone dangerous.

 

“I don’t remember being trained.” Magnus’ mouth twists in a grimace, and answers.

 

“Here’s hoping it’ll be like riding a bike.”

 

“Who trained me?” Magnus looks at him from the corner of his eyes, and Raphael’s face must be giving something away because the warlock gives him that pitying look he’s always hated, the one that spoke of caring, love and profound sadness. The warlock turns his gaze to Simon, shaking his head and Raphael actually growls at that.

 

“ _ I _ trained you.  _ I  _ did. I trained you better than this Simon, look out, hide, set a trap.  _ Move. _ ” Raphael shouts, like his family used to yell at the television when they first came out. When his little brothers would yell at their heroes to fight harder or to duck in time, and this is just like that, the script has already been written and the hero can't hear him.  _ Take me there. Take me with you. Take me. _

 

“Okay, then why aren’t they here, if they're so strong?” 

 

“Because  _ he _ wants you dead.”

 

Before the vampire can even think about replying, Camille appears through the side of building. 

 

“It’s  _ her _ , Magnus.” And Raphael’s heart jumps metaphorically in his chest because Simon doesn’t sound afraid. He sounds awed. 

 

She approaches them, slowly, with a tantalizing tranquility, as if she was tasting their anger and fear. She smiles at them, with her head held high and walking with feline steps. _ Take me, he's not ready, but I am _ .  _ Not him, please not him. _

 

“Wait for her to come to you, wait for an opening. And don't try to hit where she is, hit where she will be because she's too fast for you, even for Simon.” Raphael says, and he knows the warlock hears him for sure when he smirks in his direction with false bravado. Still looking at him, the warlock says to Simon.

 

“Yeah, Camille Belcourt she is…”

 

“She is the woman I keep dreaming about.” Simon answers but with a snap of Magnus’ fingers, Raphael is looking at himself in the broken mirror.  _ A broken mirror for a broken monster _ , he thinks and let's out a scream of rage. The last thing he saw was an army of subjugates and demons alike coming for the two of them. An army against a warlock and a little fledgling. A violent, blood-seeking army against a kid and an old man tired of his extremely long life. 

 

The  _ man  _ that he loves and his best friend against the army of his worst nightmare. He growls and curses Camille’s name. He hits the mirror until there's nothing left. He can feel the uneasiness of his clan so he forces himself to be still, to unclench his fist, making blood drip freely on the floor. 

 

He goes to his nightstand and retrieves his phone, dialing a number that the fledgling saved as a joke as  _ Remus Lupin  _ and that later Raphael changed to _ Fiddo _ . And he wishes this what just that. A joke. 

 

The phone rings and rings, and just when the vampire thinks about hanging up and go there himself, they pick up. 

 

“I know where Simon is.” He says foregoing pleasantries. His phone creaks in protest of the grip he has on it.

 

“Are you threatening him?” Asks Lucian Greymark around a growl.

 

“It’s a fact, Lassie.” Raphael hears growls and violent noises on the background, while he listens the werewolf breathe.

 

“We’ve been looking for him for over a week. He’s under the werewolves’ jurisdiction, you can’t touch him, the Accords...”

 

“The Accords are an urban legend where he is!” Raphael growls into the phone violently. He expects shouts, threats or howls. He doesn’t expects to hear Greymark whispering.

 

“Where?”

 

“Edom.” Raphael murmurs, like as if speaking softly would lessen the blow somehow. It doesn’t.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to thank you all for the kudos, bookmarks and comments, they made my day.  
> And special thanks to MusicOfYourSoul for putting up with me and my occasional bouts of dyslexia 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this chapter!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She falls and falls into a soulless black void for a long time. So long that she wonders if this is the afterlife. Just falling in the dark, with just your thoughts keeping you company. If it were, it would be a pretty convincing hell. ll. She thinks about biting herself, just to see if she could still feel, but she can’t muster the energy to move.
> 
> And then she wakes up.

A common misconception about Camille Belcourt is that people think she’s often the most intelligent person in the room. But that's not always true. She has no problem admitting that. 

 

She's the most beautiful one, though. She'd be dead by now if she weren't.

 

You don't need to be the smartest to succeed in Edom, either _. Oh, no, not at all.  _ You just need to be charming and have patience. Which is also a good way to not die. 

 

Surrounded by an army, Camille strides through the snow following the blood trail. So beautiful against the colorless ground. So bright. So inhuman.

 

She keeps walking smiling to herself, almost giddy until they reach the abandoned sanctuary. Then the smile slides off her face. She’s walking into a trap, she doesn’t know why she knows that, but she’s convinced of it. She feels the uneasiness in her bones, but she soldiers on, this world is her borrowed spiderweb now, she's the one in control right now. She's in control.  _ She is _ . At least for now.

 

The inhumanly beautiful vampire enters into the glade and sees them; it'd be difficult to not to. They're right in the middle of it, not trying to hide. They're there, unmoving. Waiting for her. If she weren't who she is, she'd have turned around and fled where they could never ever find her again. But she's Camille Belcourt and she's not allowed to run.

 

“Did you miss me, boys?” She asks, and she's had enough practice to smile around her razor sharp teeth without shedding a drop of blood. She feels Magnus following the movement with his gaze; a trick that never failed.

 

She expects the fledgling to start running his motor mouth, but he’s quiet. She doesn't want him to be quiet. He seems dangerous when he’s silent.

 

“Since we're trying to keep this civilized I won’t answer that honestly,” Magnus replies drawing attention to himself. His face doesn't have any makeup and his hair is down, like he used to wear it a century ago. “I see you brought a few friends to the party.” Behind her, she hears the hisses and growls of the subjugates and demons. And for a moment she doesn't know who is leading who. 

 

_ But that's a lie _ , she knows to whom belongs the hand moving the strings. Camille has to suppress a shiver, even thinking about  _ her _ the vampire feels her gelid body freeze.

 

“Yes, I'd introduce you, but I'm afraid we’ll be here all day.”

 

“Then I guess you should stop beating around the bush.” Magnus replies staring intently at her. He doesn't even have a glamour in eyes eyes. Cat eyes. Demonic eyes, following her every move. “What do you want?”

 

“Eager much, are we? Just like old times.” Camille says smiling again, goading the fledgling but he doesn't raise the bait.  _ Interesting _ . “What makes you think that I could possibly need something from you?”

 

“Because we'd be dead by now otherwise.” Answers the vampire, but his voice is wrong, it sounds deeper, rougher.  _ Dangerous _ . Again that word. Her fangs itches on her gums, so she forces herself to calm down.

 

“The fledgling knows what I want.” She answers, seeing how he tenses his shoulders almost imperceptibly, sparing Magnus a brief look into his direction.

 

“Maybe I forgot.” Raphael’s pet deadpans and she forces herself to laugh.

 

“Oh, are you playing hard to get, my tempting, little morsel?” She wishes she could come close to him, to taste that tantalizing scent he has even now. “Then you'll have to guess, my dear Magnus. What could I possibly want from a newborn like him?”

 

“You can't have his blood.” Magnus says, turning his body slightly closer to Simon, in a protective stance.

 

“That's not it, is it, little one?” She asks taking a step closer to them. “What do I desire the most?” The fledgling looks blankly at her until his shoulders relax slightly and he smirks with what she could only hope to be false bravado. The fledgling gasps in a disgustingly mundane fashion and looks at her with something in his eyes.

 

“Me. You want  _ me _ .” From the corner of her eyes she sees Magnus very carefully not react. So she forces herself to smile. 

 

“I had you. But I let you go.” She says and the fledgling bares his teeth soundlessly, with a his eyes unnervingly blank. A drop of blood slides off her chin into the snow, she feels the sting where her fangs cut into her lower lip.  _ She was getting sloppy. _

  
  


“You want his memories.” Magnus, ever cunning Magnus, says. “Why.” He asks in an emotionless tone, and is not a question. Judging from the way he’s looking at her with his feline eyes, it seems like as if he could see through her. She never liked when he looked at her like those devilish eyes because she felt like as if he managed to get glimpses of her _. The real her. _

 

“He knows why.” Camille answers anyway, gesturing softly to the neophyte, who is still silent in a way that doesn’t have to do with words. His whole demeanor is quiet, like a hunter waiting for his prey to get used to him before striking the final blow. 

 

“I want to hear you say it,” says Magnus in a hoarse voice, with a snarl, and  _ oh, how she longs to bite those lips right now _ .

 

“Didn't Simon tell you about his brilliant plan? He destroyed the Book of the White right after he read it.” She expects Magnus’ guardian dog to get cocky, to be arrogant, to gloat. To react. But he doesn't.  _ He doesn't. _

 

“Clever right? Now let me guess, if I don’t give you my memories you will come and get them. And then you’ll kill us, of course.” Says the fledgling with a devil may care tone, and in another moment, in another life she’d have laughed, she’d have admired him. Maybe she would even have pretended to love him.

 

“No, she can’t. You have to give them to her willingly.  _ That’s _ why we are still alive.” Answers Magnus in lieu of her with a self sufficient smile, that she’d love to wipe out his face. With her claws.

 

“Careful, my love, I need the little fledgling, but I do not need you. You’re useless to me now, you can’t even use your power in this dimension.” 

 

“That’s not true,  _ honey, _ ” Magnus says, using the term of endearment as an insult, and Camille remembers in that moment why she thought that one time she could  _ fall  _ for him, “I’m a crucial part of your plan.” 

 

“He’s my damsel in distress,” the young vampire says, with a smirk. “You will use him against me.”

 

“I prefer the term leverage if you don’t mind. If you kill me, Simon won’t give you anything.” Camille’s mouth twists downwards, and her army, feeling her mood, start to growl and scream louder and louder, making her head pound. If her heart would still beat she’s sure she would feel it in her temples. 

 

They both are still there, calm before these behemoths, these walking nightmares, and suddenly her cold fury is not cold anymore. In the blink of an eye she has Magnus dangling from his feet while she raises him towards the sky by his neck. “You have ten seconds, Simon, before I crush his neck.”

 

“Okay, okay! You win! You win! But, let him go!” yells the fledgling, showing real emotion for the first time since she got there. So she eases her grip infinitesimally, enough to allow Magnus to gasp. “I just… Before we do this, I just have one question.” She doesn’t move, and since she’s already won, she mercifully allows this, turning her head towards the fledgling. He doesn’t look afraid. He doesn’t look angry. He has a smirk on his lips but he looks mostly blank.  _ He looks wrong. _ “How did you get here, Camille?”

 

Of all the things he could do, he asks this. “Aren’t you going to ask for mercy? Or what’s my plan? Aren’t you going…?”

 

“ _ How _ did you get here?” He asks again and she frowns at the absurd of the question, she got here through… By…  _ How did she get here? She was out in the snow, following bloody footprints. And before that she… She… Nothing. She doesn't remember. _

 

Is then when she hears Magnus snap his fingers. She releases him before the blue sparks can get to her, but it’s too late. Blue fire embraces her, and she should be burning alive, but she’s not, she just feels cold, she’s freezing from the inside out. She doesn’t have time to scream before everything goes dark.

 

_ She falls and falls into a soulless black void for a long time. So long that she wonders if this is the afterlife. Just falling in the dark, with just your thoughts keeping you company.  _ _ If it were, it would be a pretty convincing hell.  _ _ ll. She thinks about biting herself, just to see if she could still feel, but she can’t muster the energy to move. _

 

_ And then she wakes up. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all the kind comments and kudos, you made me smile like a loon staring at my screen


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Camille is just a scapegoat. And this is a trap and you've fallen right into it.”

Luke is not delusional, he knows the only reason why Raphael’s feet are dangling in the air while he holds him by the neck, is because the vampire was allowing it, which does nothing but fuel his anger.

 

“What did you do?” The werewolf asks, containing a growl in his chest. His heart is beating a wild beat in chest, like the war drums he used to hear in battle on his shadowhunter days. He can feel his adrenaline spiking, the world suddenly becomes sharper, more clear. Raphael’s becomes weightless in his grip, the boy has nothing on his werewolf strength. The boy. Just as his claws itch in his fingers to get out, he sees his green eyes reflected in Raphael’s black, and suddenly Luke sees the real age of this _boy_.

 

“Magnus,” the vampire gasps. He’s not fighting, he's not even struggling for air. Luke releases him and the vampire hits the ground with a thud. He's up at a supernatural speed, his suit pristine once more, and Luke has to restrain himself from crushing his windpipe again for looking that calm.

 

“Explain.”

 

“Magnus was with Simon in Edom.” 

 

“Why would he take _Simon_ to a demon dimension?!” And then it hits him. Raphael hadn't sounded angry on the phone, he had been aggressive yes, but the detective could see now that it was not out of anger. It was out of fear. Coming here, with what in another person could be called _vulnerability_. Asking for the help of his natural born enemy. And then there's this small detail. _Edom_. “Wait is this about… Are they going after Camille?” Raphael just nods looking expressionless but with his fists curled tight. 

 

“Time is running out, I thought it could be a trap, an illusion, but I can't track Magnus down, my clan has looked everywhere. I've pulled all my strings, it's like he vanished from Earth.”

 

“So what? What are you doing here? Do you want us to try tracking him down?” But before Luke can even finish the sentence Raphael is already shaking his head.

 

“No, we just need to wait here a bit longer.”

 

“Why would…?” Starts to ask Luke, but then he takes in the vampire’s scent, it's like as if he'd hugged the entire Shadow World, he smells like Seelis, warlocks, shadowhunters, alcohol, blood... He smells like The Pandemonium. “What did you do, Raphael?” Luke asks already knowing the answer.

 

“I painted a target on your back. I started the rumor that you have it out for  _ me _ .”

 

“Oh, right now is much more than a rumor,” Luke growls clenching his fists. He feels his eyes change again, white hot fury already warming his veins, ready for the spark to start the transformation. “You have thirty seconds to explain before I tear you apart with my bare claws.”

 

“Magnus is like a father to me, he will come for you. And you also happen to have kidnaped the New York Vampire leader,” The vampire deadpans and Luke’s bone grind together to transform into his razor sharp paws. Raphael doesn't react apart from a fleeting glance at his hands.“You’re the most wanted werewolf in New York right now. Which means that his precious little Shadowhunter won't be far behind. Magnus knows what I'm capable of doing for the people I care about.”

 

“Alec? You're using Alec?! You could start a war, Raphael, what were you thinking?!”

 

“I was thinking in Simon! It seems like I’m the only one who…!” Raphael trails off and Luke doesn't need to be a supernatural being to know that someone has just opened a portal behind him. He smells it first, even before he can turn around.

 

_ Burned sugar, cologne, ink, gunpowder. Blood. Ichor. Death.  _ “Magnus!” Someone yells, right as the warlock’s eyes roll into the back of his head and falls down into the floor. 

 

Raphael and him look at each other for a moment before approaching warily to the warlock, who is lying on a puddle of his own blood and ichor. 

 

“Is a trap.” Raphael says, watching the black poison mix with red in a macabre canvas.

 

“Of course it is. Question is, is he bait, or a victim?” 

 

“The hunter or the haunted?” Luke murmurs crouching at the warlock’s side. “Alaric! Call the Praetor Lupus! Now!”

 

***

 

When Luke enters into the cold room, Magnus is sitting calmly at the  _ other _ side of the table. His white shirt is dyed with red and black, but through the hole of the cloth, the werewolf can see the healed skin of his chest and stomach. Like as if there never was an open wound so deep he saw the warlock’s ribs.

 

“I'm sorry if I ever doubted you. You've managed to bring the High Warlock of Brooklyn, unconscious, covered in blood into a mundane precinct in daylight. Consider me thoroughly impressed.” Magnus says relaxing back into the chair, in faux casualness that couldn’t be anything but practised with ease for a literal eternity.

 

“Being in the good graces of the Praetor Lupus has its advantages, you know.” Luke answers, sitting in front of him, not unlike he does with his mundane suspects, and he sees Magnus’ smile slides off his face like water. He doesn't frown. His mouth doesn't twist. His eyes don't betray him. And Magnus Bane hasn't ever seemed so inhuman like in that moment. 

 

“I do. I was an  _ intimate _ friend of the funder. Woolsey Scott.” Magnus says with the right amount of sarcasm with just a hint f something else in his gaze. “Where’s Raphael?” Magnus asks in an impersonal tone of voice, like as if he didn't walk in the lion's den unarmed for Raphael.

 

“Why do you care?”

 

“He’s my friend.” The warlock replies with irony tainting his words.

 

“Who did that to you?”

 

“Raphael’s fledgling.”

 

“Simon? Simon did that to you?” He looks briefly at Raphael behind the glass, he heard his small gasp. He looks back at Magnus, “Where is he?” Asks Luke in a calm voice, but Raphael can hear the upbeat of his heart at the mention of the young vampire. He feels a metaphorical hand squeeze his heart in sympathy, but the moment passes and his heart goes back to be an unmoving rock seated in his chest.

 

“Here’s an idea, why don’t you stop asking question you already know the answer of?”  

 

“Why did you take him there? What do you want from him?”

 

“Ah, yes, that’s exactly what I’m talking about,” the warlock says with emotion in his voice, leaning his elbows on the table, “you’ve started to ask the right questions. It's not really what  _ I _ want. It’s about what we all want. To be safe.” Luke leans back in his chair and exhales slowly.

 

“You know something about the recent attack to downworlders? Who’s behind them?”

 

“What did I tell you? You already know that, Lucian. We all do, but no one is brave enough to say it outloud.” Answers Magnus fisting his hands over the table.

 

“Camille.” Luke states but Magnus shakes his head in mock disappointment and leans back once again.

 

“No, Camille is just an intermediary. A means to an end.”

 

“Then who, Magnus?”

 

“Someone Camille is afraid of.” 

 

“Valentine?” The werewolf asks and is Raphael who answers.

 

“No. Too obvious.” Magnus smiles enigmatically and interlaces his fingers on the table, looking at the glass, like as if he were listening to Raphael. “She wouldn't be afraid of a greater demon, or a megalomaniac shadowhunter. She could work around those. What does she want?”

 

“Power.” Raphael says, and Magnus to give him an appraising look through the glass.

 

“Power.” Magnus repeats to Luke.

 

“Did she come to you?” Asks the werewolf with a frown.

 

“She did. But I said no. I'm on  _ your  _ side.”

 

“You loved her. Why would I believe you?” Asks Luke, his shiny green eyes burning into Magnus’ feline eyes.

 

Magnus smirks at him and with a flick of his wrist the heavy manacles clank against the table. “Because I could have gotten away but I’m still here.”

 

“That doesn't mean we trust you.” Raphael whispers in the other room, and suddenly the glass becomes a window. A transparent window, that allows Magnus to grin at him.

 

“Of course not, didn't I teach you better than that, kid?” Asks Magnus to Raphael. “But I’m still your only lead.”

 

“Prove that you're useful then.” Says the vampire arching an eyebrow defyingly, and the warlock complies with a snap of his fingers. 

 

Before him, the now transparent glass changes, and he gasps a breath he doesn't need because is like someone punched him in the chest.

 

_ Simon!  _ He dreams he shouts.

 

Simon is lying on a red couch with Camille crawling upon him. He has his eyes closed, but he opens it when Camille’s claw sinks into his stomach. Simon opens his eyes and regards the other vampire confused until Raphael sees the exact moment when he starts feeling the pain. He will never forget the agony of Simon’s cries.

 

_ Simon! _ He dreams he cries, and right then Simon stops screaming. For one slow second Raphael thinks he has stopped forever, but then he opens his eyes.

 

“Do I know you?” Simon asks in a trembling voice to Camille. She’s showing Raphael her back, but he’s lived long enough with her to know what her back looks like.

 

“You used to.” She mouths against the fledgling’s lips, and Raphael feels his claws pierce his skin. She rest her weight against Simon, rocking into him. “I was all you knew for a short while.”

 

“What do you want?” Asks Simon, and Camille changes positions. Now she’s facing the mirror, looking into Raphael’s eyes with a smirk.

 

“Raphael Santiago,” she mouths against Simon’s ear, and just before he can reach to her, Simon twists a metaphorical knife in his chest.

 

“ _ Who? _ ”

 

Raphael touches the glass; warm against his tepid skin. He’s back to looking at himself in the mirror, reaching for a Simon that is not there. Again.

 

“Where is he?”

 

“You already know that he's in Edom.” Answers Magnus looking at the vampire through the looking glass.

 

“Why him?”

 

“Why not?” Before Raphael can punch his way through the mirror Magnus adds, “do you know who Macavity is?” 

 

“Who? Is that a demon? A warlock? A…?” Luke asks leaning forward on the table.

 

“A cat,” Raphael answers. 

 

“What?” 

 

“It’s a poem. Macavity, The hidden paw.” The warlock replies looking a Raphael with his piercing cat eyes. “The  _ Napoleon _ of crime.”

 

“Really? So now you’re Napoleon?” Luke asks looking at Magnus’ demonic mark, his acute eyes following every movement that Raphael makes. “Bit far fetched even for you, isn’t it?”

 

“But  _ M _ _ acavity's not there _ .” Raphael answers coolly.

  
“What do you mean?”   
  


“The cat doesn't exist. People invented the cat to blame someone else for their sins.” Replies Raphael entering in the interrogation room at supernatural speed.

  
“Seems like someone paid attention in class,” Magnus says in tight voice, almost mocking mocking, “Camille is Macavity. She's just a scapegoat. And this is a trap and you've fallen right into it.” 

 

Luke has time to send one last look to Raphael before the room explodes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a literature nerd and I couldn't help but include this reference, Macavity is a cat of one TS Eliot's poems, I highly recommend it.
> 
> As always, kudos and comments make my day :) I hope you guys enjoy it


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Magic.” The forger says with a smile, “I'm sorry about this.” He says and before Alec can do anything, the fraud of a warlock snaps his fingers and everything goes black.

When Alec was eight years old he asked Hodge to start his training earlier. He would watch the older kids train, with swords and knives, using them as extensions of their limbs. He would go to the library and watch other shadowhunters study the books on the higher self, trying to track the demon of the week. Alec wanted that too. He was raised to want to be part of that. Every night he'd sneak around and grab a book he knows he shouldn't read.

 

On an unimportant night, of some day or another, right after Mother and Father went to Idris again, Alec went to the library. It was dark, and eerily quiet. It was pristine, not even a mote of dust dirtied the floor, but Alec could smell the ink and mold that were an inherent part of the books. He sighed, relaxing his shoulders for the first time since his parents came back, and grabbed a chair. He put it against the self and stood up in it. He got up on his toes but he still couldn’t reach the codex, so he put his right foot in the back of the chair and his left on the base, and he inclined it to the right. The chair was on two legs and creaking ominously, but he just needed a second to catch the book. He could touch it with the tip of his fingers. Just one more pull, but then the lights came on. The chair danced dangerously close to topple over but he righted himself in the last second, though it didn't matter because Hodge snatches him from the chair with a painful grip on his sides. _You're too small to use that spear, Alec!_ He yelled, and Alec didn't react. He was already used to the yelling by then, he looked up and saw the weapon next to the codex, he hadn't even realized that it was there. Meanwhile Hodge seemed to reign himself in, and asked _are you okay?_ Alec thought of clutching his sore ribs but shadowhunters don't mind the pain or bruises, instead he said _I want to start my training._

 

Hodge laughed patronizingly at him but he must have seen something in his eyes; what? he’ll never know, but what matters to Alec is that ultimately Hodge agreed. _We’ll start with the theory_ he said, like as if that would disencourage Alec, so he nodded his head vigorously and the lessons began the very next morning.

 

 _The first thing you need to learn is how to see, Alec._ He frowned, not understanding, and looked at Hodge’s hand, where the vision rune gleamed like a beacon. _Downworlders are cunning creatures by nature, they will disguise themselves in plain sight,_ he said, biting the inside of his cheek, and Alec’s brow relaxed, to Hodge’s surprise _so I have to look_ through _them, right?_ Alec always thought that he saw pride in Hodge’s eyes. Now he thinks it was fear. _Through their_ glamours, _yes._ Like as if he didn't want Alec to see through him, to see the real rotten him.

 

Alec was eighteen when he met Magnus Bane. He knew that when he looked into his chocolate brown eyes he was projecting what he wanted to see. Warmth. Of course he knew about his cat eyes, he heard the rumors, but that wasn't important. What mattered to Alec was that for the first time since he was taught to look, someone was looking back at him the way he want them to.

 

“What do we do with them Alec?” Asks Raj looking dispassionately at the downworlders. Raphael Santiago is on the room behind the glass, out of cold, propped against the wall, and the werewolf, Luke, slumped on the table. Magnus was closer to the door so he took the brunt of the impact. Alec is almost afraid of touching Magnus, but he still does because he's a shadowhunter he's not allowed to hesitate.

 

“Take them to the Institute. To the sanctuary.” He says, taking Magnus pulse in his wrist. It's still there, and Magnus’ wrist is so warm against his own icy touch. He engulfs his wrist with his own hand just to reassure himself that Magnus is alive. That he’s okay.

 

“But that's against the Accords, we can't just…” Alec looks at him with concealed fury in his eyes and Raj shuts up, frowning at him.

 

“We're just gonna have a friendly talk.” Raj’s frowns deepens but he gestures to the rest to pick them up.

 

“What about the warlock?” Miguel, the shy boy who always smiled at Alec over breakfast, asks reaching for him, but Alec stops him with an almost painful grip on his wrist.

 

“I'll take care of him,” Miguel swallows but nods. They hold angry gazes for a second longer than necessary but then they follow the orders. Because they're shadowhunters and that's what they do.

 

***

He brings Magnus to his room. His shirt was drenched in dried blood, but after looking frantically for the source, he found nothing. The warlock must have healed himself.

 

Looking at his face slack with sleep, Alec wants to run his fingers through the surprisingly flat hair of the warlock. He wants to caress his velvet smooth cheek, and kiss his chapped lips. Alec sits down on the bed, his thighs touching, burning where they make contact through the rough material of their clothes.

 

Before Alec can do anything else the warlock wakes up. It takes him a second to focus his gaze on Alec, but that's all the shadowhunter needs. Just a look, to confirm his suspicious. That's all he needs to know that the warlock lying on his own bed isn't Magnus Bane.

 

“Where are we? Where's Raphael? and Luke?” The impersonator asks with a rough voice, and sitting up slowly. Like as if he were stiff or in pain. Alec clenches his jaw, and stands up abruptly, crossing his arms over his chest, looking at the forger leaning against the wall opposite to the bed.

 

“Where do I keep a spare pair socks in your apartment?” Alec asks in a nonchalant tone.

 

“In the third drawer of my nightstand.” The warlock in front of him answers and Alec wants to laugh, he wants to laugh loud enough that it'd be a scream. But he doesn’t. Because shadowhunters don’t mind pain.

 

“Do you love me?” The warlock frowns and sits up on the bed as if he was in pain. Looking at Alec as if he could disappear at any given moment.

 

“It doesn't matter if I do, if you're not ready to believe it.” The warlock answers with vehemence, and it's true. It’s something Magnus would say. But the real Magnus would still have looked at Alec with a soft look, he wouldn't  have pursed his lips minutely in anger.

 

Magnus Bane’s face contorts his pained grimace into an eerily calm façade. “Let me guess, I wasn't supposed to know about the socks.” Alec smiles, straightening up and approaching the bed with a dangerous deliberation.

 

“No, you were pretty damn good. You’re just not him,” The impersonator laughs wearily, pinching his brow.

 

“Magnus thought that you'd only take _me_ , you know” and now he looks at Alec with something sad in his eyes, that makes the shadowhunter reach for his seraph blade. “He didn't think you loved enough to bring Greymark and Santiago here as well. What's your game?”

 

“Magnus wouldn't have let himself be taken, I knew something was wrong. I want to know what. So if you don't talk, maybe your friends will.” The other melts the handcuffs with a just a snap of his fingers, which makes the shadowhunter splurt into action, but he can't move, an invisible force is holding him in place.

 

“I will tell you one thing, shadowhunter, Magnus is exactly where he wants to be.”

 

“How…?” Alec starts to asks struggling to move.

 

“Magic.” The forger says with a smile, “I'm sorry about this.” He says and before Alec can do anything, the fraud of a warlock snaps his fingers and everything goes black.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've added a Malec tag because of this chapter. And I wanted to thank you for your response, I don't tire of saying this, your kudos, bookmarks and comments really make my day :)
> 
> And I also wanted to recommend you this fic written by the amazing MusicOfYourSoul, because is the most beautiful fic I've ever read.  
> http://archiveofourown.org/works/9108934


	6. Chapter 6

Simon doesn’t know why he remembers this, and not his middle name, but he knows that Winston Churchill once said,  _ if you’re going through hell, keep going. _ But he doesn’t think Churchill knew how literal his words could be for someone like Simon. 

 

He's out in the frozen wasteland again.  _ Edom,  _ Magnus has called it, literally  _ Hell _ . He doesn't allow himself to think, instead he forces himself to just focus on his surrounding, on what he can feel. The cold that should be biting his skin, but that's it's just unnaturally warm against his undead skin. He focus on what he can smell; the air that has an earthy tinge, the kind of scent that rain produces when it falls onto dry soil. Simon looks up again and sees that it's raining softly. It makes sense for about three seconds.  _ And then he remembers. _

 

He remembers that the air here is supposed to clog his nose and make his eyes water. He’s supposed to be scared, to run, but then he hears it. Someone’s breathing, a couple of feet ahead of him. The fog is too thick to see who they are, but he can tell they’re not human, there’s no heartbeat accompanying the panicked breathing. 

 

“Simon.” A familiar voice calls. He starts walking towards it. “Where are you?”  _ He _ . It's a  _ he _ , Simon realizes. Both, suddenly too fast and too slow, he gets there. The shapeless shadow takes the form of a boy not much older than him, he has wide shoulders and his dark blue shirt is straining a bit around his biceps, Simon observes distantly. He's looking right into the boy’s eyes, they're so dark they seem to be black, with a touch of deep brown. “Do you know who am I, Simon?” The boy asks with the ends of his mouth slightly downwards and with an almost trembling voice, like he doesn't want to know the answer.

 

“No, I don't.” Simon answers and it's clearly the wrong thing to say because the other closes his eyes and slumps his shoulders in defeat, “but I know that you're a vampire, that you have a cross shaped scar here,” he says caressing the base of the other’s neck through his shirt, and feels him shiver. “I know that you taught me Spanish, and that we used to argue a lot, but it was more teasing than hurtful. Is that enough?” The other boy gives him a genuine smile that looks awkward enough in his face to know, even without all his memories, that the other boy doesn't smile much. And that for reasons that he doesn't have time to think about, stings.

 

“Simon.” Someone calls distantly, but he's too busy smiling at the boy. “ _ Simon! _ ”

 

And he’d say he wakes up, although he's doesn't think this is the real world.

 

_ Simon!  _ He dreams someone cries.

 

_ For three precious seconds he doesn't feel any pain at all. But then he looks down at his chest and he cries. He cries until his throat is sore and tries to open his eyes. When he does he looks right into lifelessly cruel eyes that watch him from above. Camille. He wants to snarl and grab her hand, he wants to fight. But he can't, his body doesn't respond to him. _

 

_ “Do I know you?” Asks Simon in a shaky breath, who shows him her unnaturally sharp teeth in a pale imitation of a smile, and he has a dejá vú.  _ Oh, this isn't real,  _ he thinks, and he stops fighting it. He's lived this before, in a dream.  _

 

_ “You used to.” She whispers against his lips and he has to fight off a smile, because he already knows what's going to happen. He had dreamed about this. So he tastes the blood of her mouth and grits his teeth against the burning pain. _

 

_ “What do you want?” He asks under his breath, letting his claws break the skin of her back. She arches against him, and her tepid body is almost warm against his. _

 

_ “Raphael Santiago.” She moans in his ear, and in that moment Simon looks at the mirror in front of him almost picturing the people on the other side. The boy. _

 

_ “Who?” _

 

Someone is shaking his shoulder gently. The touch is so soft and caring that Simon doesn't open his eyes, he doesn't want it to stop. This is the first time that he can remember that someone is touching him without the intention of harming him.

 

_ “Wake up.”  _ Someone whispers, but this not the other boy or Camille _.  _ He knows this voice. 

 

“Magnus.”

 

“Are you awake now? Great.” The warlock says above him, not unlike Camille was just a second ago. His fangs pierce his gums as he grits his teeth, and Simon shakes his head trying to clear his thoughts and then he remembers.

 

“What…? where's Camille? What happened?” He asks trying to clear his head. He doesn't remember what it's like to be human, but Simon thinks it may feel like this, heavy limbs that don't want to respond to him, head full of cotton wool, and a mental fog trying to drag him back under. 

 

Magnus shakes him again brusquely enough that his teeth clench with an ugly sound. “It worked.” The warlock says with emotion, and Simon forces himself to sit up and open his eyes. “After I bewitched her she fell through the portal. I brought us to the farthest corner of Edom. It'll buy us time.” But Simon is only half listening, he still has fresh in his mind the strange dream.

 

“I saw you.”

 

“What? Oh, did you dream about me?” Magnus asks battling his lashes, too long to be anything but magical. “Was it a kinky dream?” 

 

“You were chained to a table. In a room with a two ways mirror.” Simon sits up slowly, and studies Magnus’ face closely, and his enhanced vision lets him see how stilted his smiles becomes. “Like uh… An interrogation room I think.”

 

“I was kidding, but you do have a kinky...” 

 

“It wasn’t a dream. That really happened.” Simon says and the warlock gets up abruptly and goes to the drinking cart that’s in the far corner of the room. As he goes he snaps his fingers and lits the fire place with a hazardly explosive flame, that dyes the room in a blueish color. Magnus seems to bask in Simon’s startled gasp of surprise. 

 

“Smart kid.” Magnus says amused in spite of himself. “Yes, you saw another dimension.”

 

“Was that  _ you  _ in that interrogation room?” Simon interrupts him, still looking at him without blinking, until Magnus’ smile drops off. “You’ve been here with me the entire time, surely it couldn’t have been you.”

 

“No, that wasn’t me.” Is all the warlock answers. “It was a friend of mine.”

 

“There was a man there as well. A police officer. A detective I think. I think I knew him.”

 

“His name is Lucian Greymark.” Magnus says while he opens a bottle of wine, too old to belong anywhere but to medieval times, and then pours it into a glass wine. The liquid is red, but even across the room his mouth waters at the scent. Blood. Magnus comes back to his side and gives him the delicate glass, and he remembers again.

 

_ “You have to focus, you’re so strong now that even the slightest pressure of your hands could shatter a concrete wall. Try to hold this wine glass.” Said someone to him a long time ago. He can’t see who, because he was focusing on his hands, holding the glass. _

 

_ “But why? Why should I Iearn to control my strength? I could do amazing things if you’d teach me how to. We are the  _ strongest  _ things out there.” He looked up and saw the boy of his dream. His dark eyes looked at him with sadness.  _

 

_ “I would, Simon. I would teach you to be the best, but that’s not what you want. You want me to teach you how to be a monster, because you think that’s what you are now.” The boy smiled mirthless to him and Simon felt real emotion in his chest since he was turned. The glass broke into thousand of pieces at Simon’s feet. _

 

_ “How do you know…?” _

 

_ “I’ve been there, Simon. I didn’t ask for this either.” The boy seemed to restrain himself from saying something else, “we’ll continue tomorrow, alright?” and he went away without expecting an answer. Without correcting Simon, without answering that he’s not a monster. Because he’s not, Simon doesn’t know why he's so sure about this, but he can feel it in his bones, that boy is the farthest thing of a monster. So he reached for another glass, holding it to his eyes for a long time.  _

 

_ The next night when the boy asked him why five of the glasses are broken Simon said that it was because he stayed up practising. He didn’t tell him that smashing those glasses against the wall felt good. That choosing how to destroy them felt good. And awful. That when he managed to hold the second wine glass without break it he chose to throw it against the wall just because he could. But Simon knew that the boy must have known because he said, “you know what? Forget lessons, vamos, we’re going out.” _

 

_ That night he remembers following the boy to the rooftop, where he got on a bike. Simon got on behind him and gripped tightly the seat. The brunette started the engine and Simon was focusing on his unnecessary breathing, trying to decide whether if he was terrified or excited, so he startled when he felt fingers gently pry his from the now bended seat. The boy takes Simon’s hands and puts them around him. _

 

_ “I’m quite fond of the bike, try to not wreck it and hold on tight.”  _

 

_ Simon just remembers that he held as tightly as he dared, and that he did an Herculean effort trying not to caress the abdomen of the other boy. He remembers that he had the scent of the boy on his clothes for two days. He remembers closing his eyes for a second and he stopped thinking for a little while. He remembers how the boy leaned slightly into Simon, and how he felt how the other boy let out a breath that he didn't know he has holding. He remembers thinking that the boy was so much fragile than a wine glass, so he embraced him as softly as someone like him was capable of. He remembers the warmth that the other boy seemed to give off. He remembers wishing to be human so they didn’t have to go back inside when the sun would inevitably rise.  _

 

_ He remembers that when the older vampire turned off the engine Simon didn’t remove his hands from his waist, and he felt how the boy leaned against his chest. _

 

_ “Is this okay?” He remembers asking. _

 

_ “More than.” The other boy said.  _

 

Simon shakes his head, a gesture that Magnus misses because he’s looking at the fire. The vampire drinks greedily until the cup is empty, and he lick the excess of blood in his upper lip. In another time, in another century, Magnus would have followed the movement with eyes. 

 

“You are starting to remember.” The warlock gets up from the velvet red couch in a graceful swift motion and gestures Simon to follow him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here it is, as always I hope you guys enjoy it :)


	7. Chapter 7

“Wait.” He calls but Magnus is already gone. The vampire bites off a curse and runs out of the room at human speed. There are three corridors, they are dark and cold, and stink of humidity, dust and ashes, so there’s no way to tell in which direction the warlock went.

 

_ “Focus on your hearing while tracking something. Downworlders know how to hide their scent, but you can track them by the sounds they make.” He remembers someone told him once, and by now he has a pretty good idea who that could be. The brunette boy. _

 

He strains his ears and hears steps in the corridor that's on his left. He uses his supernatural speed and catches up with Magnus in a couple of seconds, and though he doesn’t seem surprised of seeing him, Magnus smiles a timid grin to himself. Simon feels like as if he just a passed a test.

 

The walls of the hallway are made of mismatched rocks, put there hazardly in a seemingly random pattern.The only thing it seemed to keep them together was the black slime that slides down the walls. 

 

“That detective, Lucian. Are we friends, he and I?” Simon asks, feeling his skin itch where his wounds are closing themselves. He had an open wound the size of a fist when Magnus first brought him there. Now is merely a flesh wound.

 

“You just call him Luke, and he’s not trying to kill you.” Magnus answers evasively while they cross the corridors of the mansion Magnus teleported them to. To Simon they all look the same, but Magnus must know where are they going since he hasn’t stumbled once.

 

“That’s not the same thing.” They finally reach some slime covered stairs, that lead to a pitch black void.

 

“No, it’s not.”

“Are you going to kill them?” Simon asks, feeling a tight knot in his stomach. If he were human he’s sure he’d have crashed into Magnus’ back when he twirled around to face him.

 

“Of course not! I’m just trying to protect them. I wanted to bring them here.”

 

“And why didn’t you?” Simon asks defiantly.

 

“Because you threatened to kill me if I did, you said you weren't  willing to risk their lives. I’m just following your plan.” Magnus says, and without another word he keeps going. Simon mulls over his words, and knows there’s more to it. He doesn’t need to be a supernatural being to know that he doesn’t stand a chance against someone as powerful as Magnus. It’s written in his cat-like eyes, lying there, for everyone to see and for few to know. Simon’s mind creates thousands of theories why they wouldn’t let those two powerful beings join them, but he doesn’t voice them. He chooses to believe that he has someone who cares about him, that he’s not alone. Having Magnus with him is like having a fellow soldier, someone for whom you’d die and kill for, but you’re not sure if you’d live for.

 

“And what's the plan, Magnus?!” Frustrated with all the mystery and secrets. The warlock frowns and his nostrils flare with something that is not quite anger.

 

“You think Camille is the worst thing out there? You think she could get an army like that on her own?” Before Simon can reply he gets another memory.

 

_ He's sitting on an uncomfortable leather couch, looking at Magnus’ fireplace. He's looking straight at the greenish fire, even though his eyes hurt. He can feel his skin itch and hurt because of the heat, but he doesn't move from where he is. There, with the unnatural fire heating his inhuman icy skin, is one of the few times he's felt warthm since he turned. He closes his fist tight and feels power deep inside of him, like siniging through his bones. _

 

_ “They’ll think I burnt the Book of the White, so they will want my memories above anything else. If we fail they could get to my family, you need to keep me in the dark Magnus.” _

 

_ “You won't trust me if I keep secrets.” Magnus says somewhere behind him. He doesn't bother to look where. _

 

_ “I don't need to trust you, I just need you to make me follow the plan.” Simon hears himself say, and hears Magnus stop pacing. _

 

_ “Oh my… You love  _ him _ , don't you?” Says a feminine voice beside him. Simon turns around and the first thing he notices is her red hair, bright and shiny. Nothing like the fire that is dying the room in cold, gloomy tones. Her eyes, though. Her eyes are fire, green and gleaming. “Raphael." The girlWhat can I do, Simon?” She says and places a hand on top of his. There's a black tattoo of an eye against her stark white hand, that seems to judge him. _

 

_ “You'll have to bring us back.”  _

 

The memory ends, and the knot on his stomach tightens, almost suffocating him. He knows who Magnus was talking about, but he doesn't  _ remember  _ loving him.  _ What if he doesn't ever remember?  _ Simon thinks with fear. He can't afford fear now.

 

“Shall we?” Magnus says, gesturing a set of a spiral staircase and Simon is the first one to go down. He grips the handrail, and though it should be cold, it's almost burning against his tepid skin. Its rough edges slide down like silk through his own stone like hand. The farther they go down the colder it gets, but Simon barely feels it.

 

“Is Camille here?”

 

“Yes.” Simon waits for the warlock to say something else but he doesn’t. Instead they come to a stop in front of a heavy looking door. It seems to be made of dark, old wood, covered in runes like the ones that covered the body of the redhead he just saw in his mind. As soon as the thought appears it goes. He lets it go, because he has more important things to worry about, and thinking about her hurts too much for some reason. 

 

“I dreamed about this not twenty minutes ago. Camille tried to carve my heart out of my chest with her hands and  _ I let her. _ I won’t go back in there.” 

 

“You didn’t. That was me playing with Lucian Greymark and his friend.” Simon looks at Magnus’ back, while the warlock moves his sparkling hands through the air. “I just showed them what they expected to see.”

 

“What did they see?”

 

“Just you and Camille playing with fire. Your dreams are your own.”

 

“I'm not sure that's true as long as there's people like you, capable of twisting reality and dreams.” Magnus smiles a smirk worthy of the name of his kind.  _ Lilith’s children he remembers _ . “Raphael Santiago.” The lights in Magnus’ hands die abruptly and he turns slowly to him. Wary of him, like as if Simon was dangerous. And the funniest thing is that he doesn’t know if that’s true or not.

 

“Do you remember him?”

 

“Bits and pieces.” Simon takes a step back and crosses his arms across his chest. Magnus drops the cheerful act and eyes him for a moment. “Is that bad?”

 

“It's not great.” Magnus sighs heavily, “but we're too close to turn back now.” 

 

“Why should I go back inside with that  _ monster _ .” Simon says gesturing to the heavy door. Magnus stays quiet for a long time, but when he answers there’s something akin like pride in his voice.

 

“Because we are going initiate phase two of our plan.” With one last look to Magnus, who has purple fire in his hands, Simon enters into the lion's den.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, but here it is. As always I hope you guys enjoy it, let me know what you think :)


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